


A Single Solace

by bri_notthecheese



Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, post chapter 5.3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bri_notthecheese/pseuds/bri_notthecheese
Summary: Bruce returns home from the fight at Ace Chemicals, his thoughts mind-numbing and his body aching.
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	A Single Solace

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't finished the game yet (playing the last 3 chapters tonight) but after I finished crying, I had to write this. I had been told this game gave you that sweet sweet canon content but I still didn't expect THIS much and to hear John straight up admit he wanted to be loved by him after Bruce has been pining??? and then both crying as they realize this really is it. It was too much, I could barely see the QTEs through my tears

Waller’s echoed shouts didn’t sway him in the slightest as he grapples away. He’d barely listened in the first place, offering little to no response as she continually grasped for justification in regards to her actions in the hopes they could still see eye to eye.

Words shrouded in fog, that’s all they are.

Nothing quite felt real. His world—once so saturated and revving with constant adrenaline—suddenly obliterated and left him with the muddled mind of one doped up on heavy medications.

Numb.

Though, at the same time, he hadn’t noticed if the paramedics had administered more painkillers for the vast array of wounds across his person. It certainly doesn’t feel like he’d be given more. His chest aches something fierce—a constant pang that affects his lungs and ability to breathe correctly.

He’ll run a scan later to make certain more ribs haven’t been cracked.

He doesn’t remember the drive back to the manor.

He exits the Batmobile without a word. Alfred and Tiffany are already present and diligent in their assistance, wary of a fall, their arms outstretched to catch him if he were to find himself in that situation.

They should know it’s far too late for that.

He mumbles a few words about a shower and waves away any further physical contact.

Steam fogs the mirror as he undresses. He doesn't miss the glimpse of his reflection.

He’d hoped the sound of the spray against his head, the water rushing past his ears, would block out the sounds of his laugh. Each movement under the stream distorts the echo but all Bruce hears then is each gurgled interruption by his fist, his boot, or some other variation meant to cause bodily harm.

He didn’t want to hurt him. Doesn’t want to. Never will want to.

He forces his fists to relax. Water runs down each of his ten fingers. A steady sensation. Just let the water wash away anything unpleasant.

Though he’s much too hurt to do any scrubbing himself. The blood will crust and he’ll pick at it later, like a scab not allowed to fully heal.

He won’t tend to the many armor-penetrating wounds tonight. Alfred might insist but Bruce is too exhausted. What’s a bit more blood on the sheets or a half-dozen more scars anyway? He’s been stabbed before and lived.

He’ll be fine.

The shower never turns cold, but Bruce reckons he's under there for hours. It's a wonder he hasn't fainted. His skin is raw and red, his hands full of wrinkles. The rawness of his throat persists but despite the heaviness of his eyelids, they no longer sting.

For once, sleep sounds welcoming.

A single solace.

Damn the city for an hour. Or two.

Rest is all he craves.

Because at least in dreams, our brains are allowed to be kind.

In dreams, he can think of milkshakes and coffee at 4 a.m. Hotwiring a car takes a few seconds longer. Backs pressed against one another, ripe with energy in the heat of battle, are remembered and yet, they have never felt so warm.

“Be loved by you…”

His code has been challenged time and time again, each decision more difficult than the last, but this is the one that may do him in.

He won’t change, of course. He’s too stubborn for that.

But his heart, encased in military-grade armor, is pierced anyway.

…his heart has never been well-protected.

Thoughts of almost and maybes and what-ifs are never a road best traveled, and it would do his hours of wakefulness no kindness.

But in dreams we cannot be blamed for what is imagined for we have no control over what lingers there. And if he prays to a God he doesn't believe in for something to ease his pain just for a moment, that’s no one’s business.

His pinkie twitches as he succumbs to unconsciousness, knowing it’s been ripped apart from the other half of its same stitch.

**Author's Note:**

> Any kudos/comments are always welcomed and very much appreciated! ^_^


End file.
